


Lust Can Kinda Be Nice But It Ain't L-O-V-E

by toxicNeurosis



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: F/M, Just a drabble I wanted to write, May make a prequel or sequel or something we'll see, Mild Sexual Content, One Shot, Short drabble is short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 06:32:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6743158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toxicNeurosis/pseuds/toxicNeurosis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the early-morning Beirut ambience that wakes him: the whirring of cars passing by on the street below as people start their day, the honking of horns at some little black cat crossing the road with one of her newborn kittens dangling from her jaw, the chirping of the robins that have made their nest in the eave beneath the bedroom window.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lust Can Kinda Be Nice But It Ain't L-O-V-E

**Author's Note:**

> Back hurts, so what do I do while laying on the heating pad? Write sorta-smut.
> 
> Might continue this later, I dunno.

It’s the early-morning Beirut ambience that wakes him: the whirring of cars passing by on the street below as people start their day, the honking of horns at some little black cat crossing the road with one of her newborn kittens dangling from her jaw, the chirping of the robins that have made their nest in the eave beneath the bedroom window. His legs are tangled in the sheets and there’s the warmth of a smaller body -- wearing his shirt, no less -- tucked into his side, the brush of her hair against his bare chest, a smooth expanse of skin showing that he hides back beneath the covers. No one really needs to see that, no one except him, maybe. But so early in the morning isn’t the time for nudity and remembering the many rounds of slightly-inebriated sex that had taken place the night before; the sun isn’t even up yet. Coffee and maybe toast first, then maybe a sleepy morning round or two before the day really needs to get going and work has to be done.

He wriggles away from the still-sleeping body, trying not to wake her, kisses the top of her head, untangles his legs from the sheets and heads downstairs into the kitchen. No putting Red Bull in the coffee instead of water this time, he had been seeing noises and hearing colors all day when that had happened, and it’s something he didn’t very much enjoy. There’s just enough bread for toast but not much else, grocery shopping will need to be a thing that happens today. After his law courses, of course, those are important.

A quarter-empty wine bottle and a pair of glasses on the counter reminds him of what happened the night before. He had found some new kind of wine cooler at the supermarket and had invited her over for a taste-test. Very little alcohol, or at least very little taste of it, but it had been potent stuff. Less than one glass and he’d been pressed against the wall, her kissing him, him kissing her, a battle of tongues and teeth as each strived to outdo the other, hands grasping at fabric, flesh, anything and everything. Then the fabric had disappeared and there was nothing but hot skin eager to be stroked, kissed, licked into oblivion. It seems as though they had christened every viable surface in the flat except the ceiling: the counter, the couch, up against the fridge, on the desk, under the desk -- and honestly thinking about it now maybe they’d gone a bit overboard. At least he’d remembered the box of condoms in the medicine cabinet, it would have been very messy and very full of consequences otherwise. And there are places on his skin where she marked him, and places on her skin where he marked her, that will probably last for the next day or two but at least they aren’t anywhere anyone can easily see them. Rough, wild night, but man, it had been fun.

Sleepy little noises and the pitter-patter of little bare feet on the linoleum alert him to the young woman he’s happy to call a lover standing in the doorway to the kitchen, stark naked except for his shirt. She looks tired, but happy, as she walks over and slings her arms around his waist, nuzzling into his back. The sun is just starting to show its face through the curtains in the window, washing everything in gold.

“Morning.”

“Mornin’ love. Sleep well? I got coffee goin’, no Red Bull this time.”

“Good. No more seeing noises for me, thankyouverymuch.”

“Toast?”

“I’m good without, but thank you anyway. Not really hungry.”

“Not for anyfin’?” He runs a hand through her hair, smirking down at her as she smirks back up at him.

“Not really.” Her fingers dance along the waistband of his pyjama pants, slipping past the hem and dipping downward.

“Not at all?” He turns around to face her, gently cups her waist and slides his hands up her shirt, barely stroking the undersides of her breasts. “Not even this sexy bonebag right ‘ere?”

Her hands brush past his hips, cool fingers wrapping around him and giving a gentle tug that he keens at. “I might be, it all depends. How much time do we have, Skinnylegs?”

His thumbs twitch upward, gliding over hardening buds. She squeaks as he leans down, lips ghosting against the shell of her ear. “I don’ ‘ave anywhere t’be ‘til eight. Way I see it, we ‘ave a lot of ways to kill th’ next three an’ a ‘alf hours, an’ I see a lot of ‘em involvin’ a few little fings we keep in th’ medicine cabinet an’ that desk in the bedroom.”


End file.
